Snowflake Messages and Whispered Promises
by Anything Goes Twific Contest
Summary: Growing tired of his stagnant existence, he travels to an unknown land to find a purpose. Destined to be alone and without love, she yearns to break free. Fate weaves their destinies together.


**Snowflake Messages and Whispered Promises**

 **by:** KindredSpirits771

 **Summary:** Growing tired of his stagnant existence, he travels to an unknown land to find a purpose. Destined to be alone and without love, she yearns to break free. Fate weaves their destinies together.

 **Pairing:** Edward/Bella

 **Rating:** T

 **Word count:** 10,417

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended

 **Snowflake Messages and Whispered Promises**

Stepping into the warm night air, I'm inundated with the thoughts of the crowd gathered. It's the last night of the biggest local festival of Durga Puja, and being in Kolkata, the largest metropolitan city of Eastern India, makes it more overwhelming. I have only read about the marquees, locally called pandals, that are erected each year as part of a Hindu ritual to worship their most famous female Goddess. And I wasn't expecting such intricate, captivating artwork nor such a huge crowd.

Carlisle encouraged me to visit, knowing how tired I've become of being surrounded by mated couples and not finding a love to call my own. While I love my siblings, I fear I am hindering their enjoyment of each other and only stand to become more depressed the longer I stay in their presence.

In my time spent studying alone, I read the vampire folklores of India and asked Carlisle for more information since he is much older and more experienced. He had not met any vampires from India in his travels but thought it certainly couldn't hurt to look. Being as I do not sustain myself on human blood, I shouldn't have to worry about being perceived as a threat, but the amount of people here will surely draw any vampire. What made me come here this time of year and to this very city is a mystery even to me. I accidentally saw glimpses of a shop sign board in one of Alice's fleeting visions, and the street name on it stuck with me, making my decision to choose this place an easy one.

The thought of the people here worshipping and enjoying time with their families being looked at as easy targets eats at me. They aren't even aware of the monsters like myself who could be hiding around every corner, waiting for someone to become separated from their group so they can pounce and drain them dry.

Pandals are very large temporary stalls adorned with gorgeous, intricate hand-crafted decorations, using every possible material on Earth. Inside those stand the idols of the Goddess, who is strange but wonderful-looking, with ten hands and some more idols on each side of her. Every pandal has the same yet different-looking idols of the deities. I can't even fathom the depth of this rich, centuries-old culture. The whole city is illuminated like thousands of Christmas celebrations going on at the same time. Loud Indian music is blaring from speakers in every pandal. Thousands of people are wandering from display to display, smiles on their happy faces, the women in beautiful dresses. Hundreds of vendors line the streets, filling the air with the scents of spices, sweets of every kind, fried foods, drinks, smoke from the grills, Chinese dishes, and local fare. Fresh-cut flower blossoms from the pandals add their own perfume to the air.

Traveling from one booth to another, I blend in well because there are quite a few caucasians, or foreigners, as the locals call them, marveling at the whole scene with cameras in their hands. I follow the map from my hotel and the direction of the masses, searching for others of my kind and trying to control my basic involuntary reaction to human blood. Years of practice have made me strong, but never in my immortal life have I experienced this many people around me.

I find a less crowded street between two pandals and hurry there to try to breathe a bit more freely. I allow myself a deep breath and smell _it._

My mouth pools with venom against my will, and I search for the source of the smell assaulting me. It sings to my soul a melody I have never heard but must have. Need tears through me like wild fire. I look around me and see a girl, not much younger than my physical appearance of seventeen years, with long brown hair and beautiful caramel skin. I seek out her thoughts but can hear nothing coming from her, yet her blood calls to me. It begs me to open her flesh and soothe the constant ache in my throat.

I closely follow her to the front of the stage, where the idols are placed, and notice she doesn't bow her head down like most other people. Instead, she looks up to the beautifully decorated ceiling and to the walls adorned with intricate handicraft.

She turns to face me and immediately takes a step back, her instincts telling her I'm not safe. Her eyes are deep brown and full of wonder instead of fear. Nothing could have ever prepared her for facing a being that wants nothing more than her blood.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't see you." Her voice touches something hidden in me. I turn to listen and hope she talks for hours so I can learn how she says each letter. For the first time in years, I am thankful my memory is near perfect. I'll never in all my years lose the sound of her voice.

She dips her head and quickly walks past. I watch her leave and catch her as she looks over her shoulder at me. Her cheeks flame considerably with embarrassment, and she hurries through the entrance.

The decision laid before me is unlike the mortal one of fight or flight. There is no one I could not outrun or overpower. It's a moral issue that is ripping me in two. Am I the vampire who steals the soul of a young woman who came to worship, or one who follows after his father figure and chooses to treat humans as something precious I'm meant to protect?

I move closer to the figure of the Goddess and away from the girl. She stands for justice and power; maybe if I stand by her long enough, she will bless me with the power to stay away. I couldn't decipher the girl's thoughts, but I heard her heartbeat, and I hear it still. It calls to me along with her blood. It tells me exactly where she is and that she's calm now. She should be running home to her family in terror, but she's not. She's out there in a place that is not safe from my kind. What if her blood calls to others as it does to me? What if the nectar coursing through her veins begs them to take a taste and they make no effort to resist and instead, snatch her from the crowd? Or worse, one of her own kind. Unlike the other patrons, she isn't with a group of family or friends. She's wandering at her own pace, completely alone.

I've no choice but to follow her and search the thoughts of those around her for ones that wish to harm her. Though I don't detect any of my kind, that doesn't stop me looking at the other creatures from her own species. I can easily hear their minds thinking dirty things about her different body parts, leering at her with filthy eyes. And she is oblivious to it all. The way she moves in her bubble of melancholy, ancient aloofness separates her from people around her. I notice a group following her from a distance, trying to take advantage of the crowd. She stiffens a few times but seems unsure. The awe in her eyes when she looks at those beautiful crafts keeps getting disturbed by the rogues. A need to protect her emerges from my stone-cold, unbeating heart. I bump a little too roughly into one of the guys and say, "Sorry, man."

"It's okay, sahib," says the boy with a devilish grin. "Do you need any help to find the next one on your map?" he asks.

Eyes already shining with hidden greed, I know what he wants. This is the type of person I was warned about by the hotel's concierge. This scumbag wants to rob the easy 'foreigner' target. I pretend to be interested to distract him so that I can take his ass to the nearby police assistance stall. Luckily, they are happy to help. The police file a charge of harassment and being under the influence, thereby securing his night behind bars.

I try to pick up the sound of her heartbeat. It's like a siren to me now, beckoning me to follow. It doesn't take long because she's looking in my direction with an unknown expression in her eyes. Like she wants to come closer and say something, but she stays where she is, on the opposite side of the road.

I feel a tug on my shirt and look down to find a small child with bunches of flowers in her tiny arms. "Very cheap, sir. Very cheap. Fresh and good. Take please," she repeats a few times in her native accent. An idea forms instantly, and I pick a single flower from her bunch, paying a 500 rupee note to the small girl and thanking her. Her eyes light up, and she hugs my leg, making me chuckle. She tries to give me all the flowers, but I refuse. After giving me a big toothy grin, she runs away.

I cross the street to stand in front of the beautiful brunette and hold the flower out to her silently. She locks her eyes with mine for a long moment and then reaches out her slightly shaky hand to take it. The very tip of her index finger touches my hand, and electricity bolts through my system. She must feel it too because taking two steps back, she turns and hurries away from me, disappearing into the crowd. I follow after a moment. If she thinks she can stop me, she knows nothing about the battle going on inside me.

If I can resist long enough to get her home safely, I can allow myself to hunt. The nearest forest where I can get suitable food is at least hundreds of miles away.

Staying far enough away to not be seen, I follow her through the festival. I still each time her heart picks up and then slows down. She must be easy to excite. Maybe it's the moment right before she steps into each new display that I'm hearing it race. Surely she isn't nearly walking into people all night long. I watch as she crouches down in front of streetside vendors who are selling some kind of tiny figurines. She buys a few, and it leaves a pleasant smile on her lips.

After hours of her wandering and watching, I notice a tiredness in her steps. She stops at a food vendor and buys a box of sweets but doesn't eat them. Instead, she begins walking away from the crowd, and after a few short streets, enters the yard of a beautiful two-storied house with a garden surrounding it. It's quieter here and looks like a seemingly well-off residential area of the city. All the houses stand at a respectable distance from others, unlike most in the congested city. She stops at the letter box beside the main entrance and places the figurines she purchased inside it along with the flower I gave her. What a strange thing to do.

The name on the letter box reads Charles Abner Sequeira. That explains a lot of things—her not bowing down in front of the deities, casual jeans and top, no make-up, the cross on the long neckless which came out hanging when she stooped to look at the figurines. They must be Christians. I recognize the surname as an Indian Catholic one descended from Portuguese travellers here centuries ago. Using the cover of the tall bushes, I walk to the back as she enters the front, and I wait in hopes of hearing her voice again or at least catching a thought of someone thinking of her.

To my surprise, I am rewarded with the sound of her voice once again. " _I brought some sweets for you, Papa. They're from your favorite shop."_

" _Nice try, but did you think that would make me happy enough to forget what you were actually up to, Isabell Marie?"_ a much deeper but harsh voice answers _._ Isabell Marie, a name fit for a queen. I say it over and over and let myself feel how it passes my lips.

" _I didn't… I mean, I wasn't. Uh, Papa…"_ she starts but is cut off by her father, who is obviously not pleased with her. His tone makes me move closer to the living room window at the side of the house and peek through the opening in the curtain. Isabell, this beautiful, puzzling girl, stands staring at her feet while a middle-aged man glares at her, anger clear in his eyes. I suppress a growl and focus on their arguement.

" _I thought you would at least be ashamed of how you robbed me of the chance of bringing your mother to our holy religion and would repent for it. I was this close..."_ He leans in, bringing his thumb and index finger close to her face, and she winces. _"This close to convincing her to convert herself to Christianity. But then you happened! We had to postpone it until after your birth. But look at the blessings_ _you brought to us! Her life traded for your selfish, useless existence."_

" _Papa…"_ Isabell takes a step back, and I can see the first teardrop pool in her eyes,but her father doesn't let up.

" _I've told you repeatedly to stop going to these Hindu things, but you won't listen! You are dead set on humiliating me in the community."_ Hepaces the floor as he continues to berate her, and I force my hands into fists at my side so I don't rip the building apart brick by brick to get to her.

" _And don't try to sell this art crap to me! Thank God you didn't come home with that pagan filth painted on your hands."_ Charles' voice is impossibly controlled, unlike loud screaming, in which emotion is scattered all over. His calm hatred creeps out slowly and wraps around Isabell like a slow-moving fog, engulfing her in sadness and disdain.

She takes a few steps back. " _Aunt Maggie says my mother loved to make pretty things, and she used to say art and craft have no religion,"_ Isabell says in almost a whisper, probably afraid of her father but refusing to ignore the truth.

" _Well, good thing that you and your Aunt Maggie live far enough away to spare me from your worthless thoughts."_ He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at her. " _I changed your tickets. Your train leaves tomorrow morning at ten."_ With that, he turns and walks up the stairs, I presume to his bedroom.

Her heart pounds louder than it has all night. It thumps in her chest, but all I hear her say ever so softly is, " _yes, sir."_ If only I could read her mind, know her every thought. I've never wanted to hear someone's inner monologue more. Does she understand how wrong and deranged he is? Is she cursing him like I am for being a fool?

Shutting the door to a small room in the back of the house behind herself, she drops her weight heavily on the single bed. The room is surprisingly devoid of any personal touch from her, a lot like my hotel room. Isabell pulls a book out of her purse and begins reading as though nothing happened—as though her own father didn't just tell her he doesn't want her and that his biggest regret in life is her birth. I would be devastated to be told such things; most people would. She's strong, though, much stronger than I ever imagined to not fall victim to his lies nor retaliate.

Isabell's head falls forward, and her eyes stay closed more than open, but she won't let herself sleep. She's fighting it, but why? The moment her father starts to snore, her eyes open wide, and she steps lightly into the kitchen and ever so gently takes a can of cola from the fridge. Popping the tab, she tilts her head back and guzzles nearly the entire thing. With a quick sip to finish it off, she grabs some money from her purse and heads out the door but doesn't bother to lock it.

Fear grips me instantly. Where could she possibly be going at this time? And if her father finds out, I don't trust him to not harm her. He came so close to smacking her earlier; this may be his undoing.

She walks in the direction of the festival, and I follow a bit more closely than before but far enough back to not be seen. Though the city is awake all night this time of the year and streets are still crowded like before, all the threats are still present as well. Ignoring the creations she inspected earlier, she searches the vendors along the sidewalks. I can't imagine what she could need at this hour. Surely she wouldn't come out just for a midnight snack.

I see her stop and begin talking to an older woman sitting on a low stool, dressed in more traditional clothing. A small board saying 'Mehendi' is in front of the woman's feet, her bright sari and jewelry glittering in the lights from the festival. She looks over Isabell's hands, and after selecting something from a booklet, she gives her a price. They negotiate, and once it's settled, Isabell sits on a low stool and places her hands in the woman's lap. The artist pinches a hole at the top of a cone that reminds me of a small pastry bag and begins creating a design on her patron's hands. I watch through the artist's mind as she decorates her canvas of flesh. It doesn't take much time until an intricate design of perfectly uniform dots and beautifully curved lines in a dark moss green color cover the back and palms of Isabell's hands. I finally understand what her father was saying about the "filthy paint," but it's gorgeous and has a sensuality about it of which he wouldn't approve.

Isabell holds her head high as she hurries back to her home, and I find myself quite proud of her silent act of rebellion. I hope she feels the same satisfaction. Her blood still calls to me, and my mouth still pools with venom, my muscles ready to pounce, but I resist. I have no choice. Her life is too valuable to me now to do anything else.

She enters the same way as she did earlier but holds the door open with her shoulder and is careful to not grab anything with her hands. Pausing in front of the letter box, she smiles and nods as though she's agreeing with her decision to keep her treasures hidden from her father.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see who's interrupting me. _Alice_ flashes across my screen. Of course. She must be seeing visions of me and Isabell.

"Hello, Alice."

"Skip the pleasantries, Edward. You need to get back to the hotel before the sun rises and you expose yourself. You can't follow her. You picked one of the sunniest times of year to be there. If you had listened and waited for the monsoon season…"

"I wouldn't have met _her_. How did you not see her coming?"

She growls into the phone, pissed that we expect her to see everything in our futures one minute and tell her to butt out the next. "I'm not perfect! Sorry!"

"I have to follow her, Ali. I have to know she's safe. Any normal vampire wouldn't be able to withstand the call of her blood."

"The call? You beautiful, stupid boy. She is your singer. Her blood only calls to you. She's safest anywhere _but_ near you," she says with an attitude, and I'm glad we're so far apart.

"No! How could she be? So I'm destined to kill her?"

"According to Emmett and Carlisle. They don't understand how you've resisted this long. It's said to be impossible. They want you home, Edward. We all do." She sounds so sad, and while it's nice to know they miss me, I can't leave Isabell. The very thought makes my chest ache with an emptiness I've never known.

"I'm watching her future and yours. I'll know when the time is right for you both. Now, come home."

I know she's telling me the truth. She'll know when our paths are meant to cross, but I have to be near her first. I have to prove to myself I am strong enough to resist her blood and can set about finding a way into her life. More than anyone, she needs a protector—someone to care for her and show her how precious she is. Who could be more fit for the job than me?

I peek in her window and find her lying flat on her back in the small bed, with her decorated hands strategically placed on her stomach. The paste appears to be much harder now than when it was applied, but it must need to stay on for some time for her to sleep with it on. I watch as her breathing becomes rhythmic and she falls into a deeper sleep. She must be feeling uncomfortable sleeping in those clothes, but she doesn't have any option without ruining her painted hands.

Unable to resist a moment longer, I inspect her window but have no way to enter without destroying the bars there for security. Scanning the back of the building, I try the rear door and curse her father's carelessness at not having it locked. It can't be safe for her to be on the lower floor with a back door anyone could open. With silent steps, I walk through the apartment and into her room. Thankfully, her door doesn't squeak, and I hurry across the carpeted floor and kneel next to her bed.

I gently lay the flower I took from her letter box on her bedside table, needing her to have a piece of me with her always. Watching her sleep is the most at rest I've felt in my last hundred years of this life. Seeing her at peace gives me a calm I have never felt before. I can't help searching her mind in hopes of catching a glimpse at her dreams, though I never do.

Before leaving her, I study her like an art student would a Picasso. Each varying shade of brown in her hair, the slight hint of amber on her light pink lips, the caramel of her skin, it's all part of me now. I memorize the slope of her nose, the angle of her cheekbones, and the roundness of her chin. I try to not notice her artery moving under the thin skin of her delicate neck with each beat of her heart as I steal a glance at the shape of her figure, the rise of her breast, and curve of her hips. She is a living masterpiece. I can't stop myself from examining her womanly figure, though I've never felt the need before. A primitive sensuality permeates through her untouched virgin figure, and she carries it with such oblivious innocence that my baser instincts suddenly go wild with a need I've never experienced. My sleeping angel is an artist's perfect creation.

My phone vibrates with an incoming text as my index finger is about to touch the sensitive skin behind her ear, and I sigh, knowing my time here is ending.

" _Leave now!"_ is all the message Alice gives me. Leaning forward, I kiss Isabell's cheek and whisper a promise that I will return for her. I can still feel her energy on my lips as I hurry out into the early morning before the sun.

Watching the clouds glow in the moonlight from the plane's window, I get lost in memories of last night. It already feels so distant, as though it was another lifetime, but each second is frozen in my mind. I left my dead heart in the beautifully painted hands of Isabell, whose heartbeat is now the timekeeper of my existence. Her perfect face stays behind my closed eyelids while I pray for her safety and hope to be back soon.

Stepping off the plane, I hear my name being called in someone's thoughts rather than with their voice. I forgot how nice it was to communicate with my sister. Our silent conversations annoy everyone else in the house but make us feel almost normal.

She hugs me and shows me a vision before I can respond.

 _Isabell is clutching the same book I saw her reading to her chest and looking out of the window of a train as it travels through the hillside—her eyes pensive and face withdrawn—and then her car arriving safely at a convent_.

At least now I know Abraham's Homes is the place where my reason for living is safe and protected.

"That's all I'm going to show you until the rest is nailed down, but I knew you needed to see she's safe," Alice says happily and turns on her heel to leave.

"The rest of what is nailed down?" I ask as I follow her out to the car, but she ignores me. The dreary, sunless sky is a welcome change; it fits my mood and makes being out in the day much easier. The drive back to Forks is short with Alice behind the wheel, and though I wasn't gone long, it's nice to see my family again. I did miss them, although not as much as I miss Isabell. How my existence has come to be nothing without her in only the span of an evening I'll never understand, but it has.

"Son," Carlisle says, full of pride and love as he lays his hand on my shoulder, "why don't we go for a quick hunt and catch up?"

I had forgotten about the constant ache in my throat until the mention of hunting, and now I'm desperate for something to quench my thirst. I swallow thickly, and he grins at me before running off into the woods behind our home. I quickly follow and pass him up; it feels so good to stretch my legs and use the speed that came with my loss of mortality. We find a small herd of deer and make quick work of draining them. Carlisle explains what a singer is in our world and asks me to tell him about her. He smiles at my enthusiasm, but something else is there—something he won't say and is trying to hide from me in his thoughts.

"Just tell me, Carlisle." I smirk without humor. "We both know I'll find out eventually."

"I'm worried for you, Edward. And for Isabell. What is the outcome you want in all of this?"

I step back and search his thoughts. He's wondering if I will bring her home to Forks as a human or an immortal. If I plan on changing her myself, he's afraid I might kill her in the process. Or if I stay in India with her as she is, how will I feed? Will I hide in the darkness of night forever? If she remains unchanged, what will happen to me as she ages and one day dies? What will become of me?

The weight of it all lands on me at once, and I fall to my knees on the forest floor. "I…I don't know."

"My intention was not to burden you with so much at once, Edward. I apologize for that, but please know I speak for all of us when I tell you your family is here to help you. You aren't alone in this." His thoughts flicker to Esme, Emmett, Rosalie, Alice, and Jasper, showing me how concerned they've all been.

Shaking my head, I stand up and start to walk toward the house. "You'd think I was the youngest the way you all worry about me. I do appreciate it, though. Truly."

The closer we get to the house, the calmer I feel, and I immediately pick up Jasper's "voice." He's glad I'm back so that Alice will calm down and is excited to meet the girl bringing out so many new emotions in me. Emmett, being Emmett, uses my distraction to his advantage and tries to tackle me. Thankfully, I hear him before he attacks and side-step his charge.

"Dammit! I almost had you!" He stands up and slaps my back. "Did you see that, Rosie?" He talks to his wife but is thinking about how this girl I found is built—what size her breasts are and if I've seen her change her clothes.

If I could blush, my cheeks would be scarlet. "Rosalie, please control your swine of a husband," I plead and kiss her cheek. She slaps his arm and hugs me tight for the first time.

"Alice told me what you did to protect the girl from those scumbags. Thank you, Edward." Her eyes are tight, and her voice is thick. If she were human, she would be crying.

"No need to thank me." I hug her back but am cut short by Esme squeezing between us.

"I'm so happy for you. I just know this will all work out." She pushes my hair out of my eyes and picks a piece of grass off my sleeve. "Before we drive you away, why don't you go relax and freshen up from all your traveling?"

"That sounds great. Thanks, Esme." I enter the house and head up to the third floor, where my room is. The books on India are still on my desk where I left them, and I couldn't be happier that I chose to take the trip. I didn't even look for what I went to research, but what I found was so much more.

I take off my pants and shirt but don't put them in the laundry. I can still faintly smell her on them, mixed with the smoke and perfumes from the festival, so I leave them in my room to have something of her with me.

Not that I'm ever without my memory of her.

I step into the shower and wonder if Isabell has done the same thing. Surely she had a long day of travel on the train after a very long night. How did her painted hands, that I found so seductive, look after she washed away the paste? My body reacts to the thought of her naked, and I'm ashamed but too aroused to ignore it. I wrap my hand around my hardness and let myself remember the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, her perfect honey-coated lips that I would give my soul to kiss, as I stroke myself.

A growl escapes my lungs as I explode, and I lean my head against the shower wall to compose myself. If the mere thought of her has such power over my body, I can't imagine how incredible actually touching her will be.

" _She must be one hot chick to have you so wound up, little brother. I need some details, though, man. Holding out on me is not cool!"_ Emmett thinks as he walks past the bathroom.

I can't help but laugh and yell out, "Never!"

Waiting should be simple for someone who will never age and has eternity in front of them, but it's driving me mad. Alice has been avoiding me these past two weeks because of my constant interference with the future. I need to know when I can see Isabell again—when I can talk to her and see if a life with me is something she would ever consider. So I've been "deciding" to go to her at different times in an attempt to trigger something. I've only managed to trigger Alice's anger.

Even Jasper asked me to lay off and has been exhausting himself trying to keep us both calm. Apparently, vampires can get headaches, and I've given her one. I do feel guilty for her pain but not for my intrusion. The unknown is simply too much.

 _Snow-covered mountains and Christmas carols. Her warm hand in my frozen pale one, resting on our knees as we sit on a bench at the convent. Flashes of skin, blood, lips open in pleasure, a headstone._

The vision ends abruptly, and I see the pages of a romance novel.

"Alice! What was that? What are you hiding?" I run down the stairs from my room, out the door, and am face to face with her in the woods before she answers.

"I told you it wasn't nailed down yet. I'm not sure if she lives or dies, Edward! I need more time and for you to stop interfering!"

Without raising my voice and as calmly as possible, I explain, "I was in my room, reading another damn book, and your vision flashed through my mind. I wasn't prying. I swear."

Her eyes open wide, and she looks up at me with excitement I haven't seen since the moment I got home. "Oh! Then maybe it _is_ Christmas when you're meant to go. I had a feeling it was, but you kept messing with it…" She's rambling on, but all I can think is that Christmas is only a month away. I can book my flight and pack my bags. I will see her in days and then for eternity if she'll have me.

"What was with the graveyard? That name on the headstone is one I heard her and her father argue about. It's an aunt she loves, her only real family, from my understanding."

She closes her eyes to focus and sees the same headstone, but now her vision has expanded to see another beside it bearing my love's name. Alice holds my hand tight and keeps searching the scene in her mind. We see me standing alone, but there's an unsure feeling of someone nearby. The vision isn't clear. It's as though we are looking through Vaseline.

"This is a good sign!" Alice says, relieved. "I think it's her I sense with you. Her future isn't decided yet, but I believe she isn't the one you're visiting."

"You believe or you know? It's a big difference."

She bounces up on her tip-toes and kisses my cheek. "It'll all be fine. I'm sure of it."

Hesitantly, I choose to believe her, and the next few weeks go on the same way, with fleeting visions of the same incidents, nothing more. I'm getting impatient, with Christmas only four days away and Alice's uncertain thoughts. I don't know if she imagined the previous scenes or if they were real. If I'll be there for Christmas, I have to bring her gifts and should start shopping now for something suitable that I can travel with. Maybe a piece of jewelry would be appropriate. But the question is, will I be there?

Out of nowhere, Isabell reappears in front of my closed eyes as I spend the evening listening to the calming classical tunes of Debussy. I see it before hearing Alice's gasp from downstairs.

 _A lone tear runs down Isabell's cheek as she stands at a window. Cool, misty mountain air blows through her untied hair, leaving a few strands tangled on her forehead._ She is more beautiful than I remember _—e_ ven with slightly swollen red eyes, like she was sobbing moments ago. _The flower I gave her, now dead and dried, is being clutched to her chest. Her soft words float like a snowflake in the night air: "My angel."_

"Now! I must leave this instant. I'm not waiting for you any longer," I say as I rush down to stand in front of Alice. "Clearly, something is wrong, and she needs me. Have you been hiding this from me?"

"Of course not! Why would I hide this from you?"

I narrow my eyes and glare at her. "You did when things weren't nailed down enough. Are they now, dear sister, or shall I wait until she's in the ground?"

"I am not perfect. My visions change! You know this better than anyone." She was trying to protect me from worrying needlessly, when she should have known I would worry regardless of what she'd seen.

She stiffens, and before I ask what's more, I am assaulted by another vision.

 _Isabell is standing dangerously close to a cliff, and a thick smoke-like fog snakes slowly up her legs and envelops her. My destiny fades out in white clouds in front of my eyes._

I run for my bag, and before anyone can stop me, I'm on my way to the airport. If only I could get there faster and not have to rely on human technology. I need to be with her this very moment. I need to stop her and rescue her before Alice's visions come to fruition. With all that I am, I pray that whatever god is listening keeps her safe until she is in my arms.

 _BPOV_

Aunt Maggie finds me in the empty chapel again this Saturday. She worries about me being alone so much. Most of the campus is almost empty by now, as the students have gone out to the small town a few miles from our residential convent school. I bet they're having a fun time in the square, all the shops to visit, the movie theater, Thapa's bistro. Some might sneak away from their friends to have a little private time with their chosen ones. The thought of their forbidden activities gives me a shiver, but then the all-consuming sense of loss that's been constant in my heart these past weeks wins over.

I felt it for the first time when I jerked awake in my bed that first morning. The Mehendi on my hands was completely dry, and the dust was all over on my bed and clothes, but the thought of my angry father seeing it was less potent than the feelings in my chest. The first light of dawn was trying to break into the room, and my sleepy eyes found the single flower on my nightstand.

For a moment, my world swayed off its axis, and I lost all rational thought. _How?_ How could that be in here? I left it in the letter box with the tribal figurines I bought because I knew they wouldn't survive my father's wrath.

My father—the well-known businessman and one of the most respected people among the city's Christian society. He's so ashamed of his immoral, pagan-worshipping daughter that he has decided I need to live hundreds of miles away from his circle of purity. He's never even tried to understand that being a Christian and appreciating art from other cultures aren't mutually exclusive. He never hesitates to remind me of how I robbed him of happiness and fulfillment, how my disrespectful behavior lets him down in everyone's eyes. That night was no different, and he found the perfect excuse to send me back earlier, just like he does every time I visit.

Looking at the flower from _him_ brings back that evening with a new wave of joy, longing, and sadness. Never in my eighteen years have I felt a pull to someone. I frown and try to remember what made me think of him as something other than an ordinary man. True, he is the most gorgeous person I have ever seen, but there was something else. The way he looked into my eyes when he gave me the flower and when he smoothly took that vile man to the police booth showed more than admiration or the common respectful attitude of a kind man. Then the little girl smiled up to him like he brought down the moon for her, and I felt desire stir inside my cold, deserted heart for the first time. But there's something else I can't understand. The jolt of lightning that ran through my body when my fingers touched his hand is unexplainable. His hand was cold, like ice, but warmth traveled through my veins. I ran away from him with my scared, lonely heart, so unsure of what to think. And then my father happened, and in my silent rebellion of getting the Mehendi done, I put aside my confused feelings about the beautiful man with golden eyes.

My skin prickles, and I'm overwhelmed with the sense that something happened there that night while I slept. I could feel a place between my dreams and reality, just outside my reach; the flower he left was my proof. It was like my guardian angel finally found me, but I was not ready. I have to prepare myself to be with him. The flower was the sign I need to follow to reach him. Yes, he is my angel. Nothing else explains it, and I want to hold that belief tight, secured in my heart.

With my mind swirling with memories of that night, Aunt Maggie finds me on the bench near the front of the church once again. With Christmas only a few days away, our small church is already decorated beautifully, and that makes my ugly, insignificant existence more prominent, a perfect misfit.

"Oh, sweet child! It pains me to see you like this, but my God tells me you will not be denied your happines. Not anymore." She puts her arms around my shoulders, and I bend my head to her chest. The only home I've ever known, the only smell close to a mother's scent is Aunt Maggie's to me. My tears start slipping onto her habit's tunic, but she just tightens her hold on me.

"You can't have anything before it's time nor receive more than your fate has already decided for you, Bitiya." She has always called me that—her girl. She's the only one who makes me feel like I belong.

"But Maggie Auntie, it's been almost two months. I still see him whenever I close my eyes. The flower still smells like him. I know I never got close enough to smell him, but I know it's him! I know he's my angel. Am I that worthless that even he left me after seeing who I truly am?" I can't finish explaining. I stop trying and am overtaken with sobbing.

Aunt Maggie just sits there and lets me get it out of my heart for a long time. I regain my composure a little, and with her gentle hand under my chin, she lifts my face to kiss my forehead. She grabs my shoulders with her frail yet strong hands, looks straight into my eyes, and says, "Never let anyone say that you are unworthy. Your mother felt your worth and chose your life as her wish from God so that you could add more beauty to the world. You have the strongest and kindest heart I have ever known, Bitiya. God will watch over you until your angel comes."

I want so badly to believe her, to believe that he'll return for me. Over these past couple of months, I have woken from dreams that leave me shuddering with desire, and I believe they have something to do with my beautiful stranger. But I can't share these impure thoughts with Aunt Maggie.

I know it isn't logical to feel this strong of a pull toward someone who is virtually unknown to me. But the heart doesn't always need a reason to love, nor does the body to react.

Exploring my own flesh brings me pleasure which I had never known, though the lack of his ice cold and electric touch makes me doubt and wonder if I've made it all up. It makes me think I'm destined to be alone and worthless forever.

I return to my room once Aunt Maggie leaves for the orphanage she goes to every Saturday. My roommate moved out last month, claiming my silent presence was unsettling her, so I get to have the entire room for myself until I leave next year for college. Standing in the open window, I look over the snow-covered mountains in the distance. A sudden gust of icy wind makes my eyes water, and I wonder where he is now. Does icy wind affect his cold skin like it does mine? Bringing out the flower he gave me, now dead and dried, I hold it to my chest and call out for him, hoping the tiny snowflakes will carry my words to him.

 _EPOV_

Being as it's Christmas Eve when I arrive at Abraham's Homes, I head directly to the church in hopes of finding Isabell at midnight mass. Hiding outside the chapel and missing my heart's timekeeper make me more distraught than I can contain. My muscles are tense, ready to scour the campus looking for her, but even with so many students gone for the holiday break, there are enough to make exploring difficult. My only relief is that I can't see any signs of loss or mourning.

Thoughts and wonderings of others are a constant background noise for me and rarely a distraction, but it's different here. I suppose prayer is a larger part of life here than I expected. Scanning through the minds near me, I hear requests for health, good grades, dates, love, forgiveness, and finally, I stumble upon one for Isabell. The kind soul is asking God to watch over Isabell until her angel returns and to make it quick. Little did I know that I would fulfill more than my own heart's desire by coming here today.

I'm focusing on the thoughts of the woman praying and realize it must be her Aunt Maggie. She's thinking of a woman who looks quite a bit like the object of my obsession. I would know her chin and nose anywhere.

Her mind then flashes to thinking of my Isabell alone in her room without anyone to speak to. She's so worried for her but knows it is much better for her here than with her father.

I'm starting to really like this woman. We seem to agree on how wonderful and in need of love Isabell is.

While making my way to the building in Maggie's thoughts, I can't help but worry that I'll be too late. As I approach the building, her scent calls to me, begging me to have a taste.

The unsteady rhythm of her heart pulls me back to why I'm here and to the memory of Alice's vision. I'm her angel, not a monster. Her breathing is slow but erratic, probably indication of non-peaceful sleep. I need to see her, touch her, and make sure she's all right.

The distance between us is unbearable now that I've come this far. I've crossed oceans to be near her and will be damned if this simple cottage wall is going to keep us apart.

I gently push the window open and am careful to not wake her. My throat is on fire, but the burn is welcome. It lets me know she's here with me. Standing near the window, I watch my love sleep with rapt attention. She's restless, unlike the last time.

Her hair is wet with sweat and sticking to her temples. The covers are thrown about, leaving her legs exposed. Fear grips me. I don't want to frighten her, but my fingers twitch with my overwhelming need to touch her, to fix her blanket, and smooth her hair. Ever so gently, I move her blanket over her legs and kneel by the head of her small bed. She whimpers and tosses in her sleep, and without a thought, I reach out my hand and brush her hair back to comfort her.

"I don't know if I'm an angel, as you say I am, or a monster, but I'm here now," I whisper and hope to not wake her. She smiles in her sleep and turns on her side to face me, looking more peaceful than a moment ago. Her youth is making me doubt my decision to be here. She looks so young and innocent. Who am I to rob her of her future?

Unable to resist anymore what I wanted to do that night in her bedroom months ago, I trace my finger up her delicate neck and behind her ear. With a sigh, she opens her eyes, and to my delight, she isn't afraid. Her eyes widen with surprise and she stares at me for a long moment. I wait, still as a statue. A smile forms slowly on her beautiful face and she whispers a shaky, "You came," as a tear leaks from the corner of her eye and disappears into her hair.

"I couldn't stay away any longer, though I tried."

Resignation mars her beautiful face. "I know I'm not worthy of you, my angel. I understand why you wouldn't want to come back to me."

"Not worthy?" I ball my hands into fists and wish she understood how amazing she is. "It is I who am unfit for you, Isabell. I am not the angel you believe me to be."

Shaking her head in disbelief, she sits up on her bed with her feet curled under herself and is careful to stay covered with her blanket. "Sit with me. Please?" she asks with a shiver.

I oblige but sit at the other end of the bed, afraid of chilling her even more. Looking me over, as though I might be part of her imagination, she seems confused.

"Something tells me you are… different but not bad. I know you're good. I can feel it."

I want to believe her more than anything, but I know this is what I am designed for, to draw her in, to make her trust me. Nodding, I explain, "That's very kind of you, but if you only knew what a selfish monster I truly am... I can't stay away from you. Not because of any kindness in my soul. I don't have one, nor a heart." I look into her eyes and try to convey how serious this is. "I am a monster in the truest sense. I'm designed to kill you."

"But you didn't! You saved me!" she exclaims. "You saved me from that man during the festival; you saved me from forgetting myself. Your flower saved me from feeling alone." The last part is mumbled so softly that without my vampire senses, it would have been lost in the stillness of the room.

"I'm forever grateful that I was able to be your guardian that night, but are you not at all concerned with why _I_ was following you? Or how I was able to find you in a crowd of thousands?"

She pulls at a loose thread on her blanket and seems unsure of how to answer me. "No," she says and sits up straighter. "It only matters to me that you saved me. If you were going to kill me, you would've by now. I'm not afraid."

"Oh, but you should be. You should know that I can smell your blood and pick out your heartbeat. There is nowhere you could hide from me."

"But you stopped my blood from spilling in another's hand; you cared for my heart in a way no one ever has," she protests. "Why are you trying to make me fear you?"

"Because, Isabell, you _should_ fear me. You should fear the being who hungers for your blood more than anything else in the world."

"Hunger for my blood? How do you..." she begins to ask but then stops abruptly. I can see the moment realization comes to her. She stops breathing, and she stares at me with an unreadable expression. A silent determination comes over her, and she reaches out, taking my hand in hers.

"If you simply wanted my blood, you would have drained me that first night." There's a hum between us where our hands are joined, a spark that begs us to draw nearer. "Can you feel this?"

I nod and wish I could pull her to me. I want so badly to wrap my arms around her and make her feel desired.

"Are you going to leave me again?" she asks as she traces my palm and avoids looking into my eyes.

"Only if it is your desire for me to leave." It's the truth. I can't imagine not being near her. She's like a wildflower—difficult to find and impossible to forget.

"I don't desire for people to leave me, but they do," she says softly but without seeking sympathy or attention.

I move to sit closer to her and let my arm rest against hers. She shivers but doesn't back away. We sit side by side and tell each other about our lives. She learns about my family and the different gifts we have, and in return, she tells me how she loves art and wants to travel the world. Instead of being afraid of me, she seems intrigued and not deterred in the slightest. She asks if I will meet her Aunt Maggie, claiming it will ease the older woman's mind to know that her prayers have been answered. Of course, I agree, and being that it's Christmas Day, it seems fitting.

The longer we talk, the closer we become. My arm is now wrapped around her shoulder, and she is leaning into my side. Her body feels heavier with sleep as she relaxes, and for the next half hour, I hold her while she closes her eyes. I inhale the fragrance of sandalwood and lavender from her hair, and the need to kiss her consumes me. Without thinking, I place a soft kiss on her hair, and that very moment, she looks up at me. Our eyes stay locked on each other, and she inches closer to me. My lips press to hers like a snowflake touching the ground, silent and gentle. Her warmth spreads through me like a wildfire. The pull to pleasure her is greater than the call of her blood, which surprises me. Cradling her face with my hands, I deepen the kiss, and she reciprocates with equal vigor. Sensing that it is becoming impossible to be careful with my teeth, I pull back, but Isabell has no intention of stopping. She presses her body to mine and leaves a trail of kisses down my neck.

I growl at the sensation of her feather-soft touch. The hormones rushing through her blood make it sweeter than ever, and without thinking, I let myself touch the delicate curve of her hip. Concentrating on being careful, I explore the softness of her breast in my hand in contrast to the hardness of her pebbled nipple against my thumb. She takes in a sharp breath, and I jerk my hand away. We can't do this, not here, not now. It would be too easy to lose control, and the consequences would be fatal for her. Gathering all the strength I have, I force myself to move out of her reach to the opposite side of the bed.

She holds one hand to her chest as she catches her breath, and I pull her blanket back around her. "Please forgive me. I shouldn't…"

"Stop. You have nothing to apologize for." She snuggles into her blanket with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "It would be nice to know your name, though."

My mouth opens in shock, and I think back over our entire night. I never told her my name. "It's Edward." I laugh and rub the back of my neck. "Edward Cullen." We keep our distance for the rest of the night, knowing neither of us stands a chance against our temptations.

As day breaks, I leave her to attend to her human needs and get dressed. Thankfully, the day is cloudy, and there is no need for me to hide indoors. She leads me to the chapel where I searched for her last night, and we enter in search of her aunt.

 _I knew she said he was beautiful, but dear heavens, I never imagined this. He looks like a movie star. Something isn't quite right with him, though. There is something other. Maybe my Bitiya was right. Maybe he is an angel sent straight from heaven to her._

"Merry Christmas, Maggie Auntie!" She rushes to give the woman a hug and turns to wave me forward.

I'm humbled by her thoughts and do my best to make her feel as though Isabell will be safe and loved with me. She introduces us with a little smirk on her lips, knowing just hours ago when we were being less than appropriate, she didn't even know my name.

"I'm an old woman, Edward. It does my heart and mind well to know my Bitiya has someone in her life." She holds my glove-covered hand in both of hers and leads me to sit in the back pew as Isabell kneels in prayer at the altar.

"Because I feel there are things that I'm better left unaware of and I trust Isabell, I am not asking you to tell me every little detail about yourself. If what I saw her going through these past couple of months is any indication of how much you matter to her, my only request to you is to keep her safe and make her happy." We watch as Isabell continues to kneel with her head bowed in prayer. "She hides God's light and love inside her heart. Break her walls, and free her soul. You will be the luckiest man alive to have her love."

"I don't have the slightest doubt about it, Maggie. But I am not worthy of her divine purity."

"Don't you think it's divine intervention that you were brought to her? Just believe, Edward. Everything will be perfect, as you have already found favor in the eyes of the Lord and will follow His holy plan for you both."

The next two days go smoothly as Isabell shows me her little world and says goodbye to the only place that comes close to a home for her. I often watch her from a distance so that no one will notice or remember me. It amazes me that she never thinks twice about leaving everything behind—as if she feels it's as natural as the seasons changing.

I find fake IDs for her along with documents for travel at the bottom of my bag, a surprise gift from Alice. Her immediate joy shows how ready she is for a life with me. I'm looking forward to her meeting my family but even more so, her becoming my equal in every sense. Trying to keep our hands to ourselves has been a challenge, and we do try, though not always successfully. I can't even imagine what spark will ignite when we don't have to hold back—when I have no fear of hurting her.

Standing on one of the uneven steps made by flat rocks, I look up and am suddenly hit by a sense of déjà vu. Isabell is standing over the cliff, and I can see her from where I'm standing below. I know Maggie is at the fence surrounding the campus, and they are seeing each other for the last time in the foreseeable future. We chose this abandoned path at the far end of the school to leave so no one would see us. A thick fog is making its way up the hillside like a snake, swallowing everything in its wake. Alice's vision suddenly has a new meaning to me. It wasn't her end but rather our beginning that she saw.

The fog will make the perfect alibi for the depressed girl's unfortunate accident. By the time Isabell turns and takes her first step, the fog envelops her. For a few seconds, she becomes less visible to me but then comes into view. Though her eyes are still misty from her goodbyes, the smile on her face tells me she will be the sunshine of my forever-dark existence.

 _Ten years later_

Last evening's snow settles over a small graveyard next to St. Thomas's cathedral. Buried there are the saints who served the Lord at Abraham's Homes. Among them lies Sister Maggie alongside a young girl who disappeared some time ago. No one knew her well enough, other than Maggie, to have any idea where she might have gone. Her father knew nothing of her whereabouts and to everyone's dismay, did not seem overly concerned.

The older woman was not distraught at the girl's sudden disappearance. It was assumed that she knew of her depressed state and for the sake of her soul, did not want to assume she took her own life, thereby sentencing herself to hell. No, the dear woman explained that the clumsy girl must have fallen that misty morning and become the victim of some wild animals nearby. She petitioned the church to allow her to have a headstone next to where she would eventually be buried.

"I spent my life watching over her. I would like to do the same in eternity," she had told them. The church agreed, only they were to be separated from the rest and buried in the far corner.

This particular night, the moonlight is shining like a spotlight on their corner, and a couple is there standing over them, their hands interlocked as they stand like statues at the foot of the graves. The cold and frequent gusts of wind don't seem to bother them. The woman bends down to the grave on the right, and for a long while, she kneels there, her lips moving as though she's praying. Then, the man stands and moves closer to the headstone. He clears the snow from it and kisses the stone. Surprisingly, they both ignore the grave to the left.

When the moon starts going down behind the tall pine trees, the man comes to stand beside the woman once more and silently puts his hand on her shoulder. She looks up to him, and in the dying silver hue of moonlight, her golden eyes glint with a hint of sadness, yet she smiles at him.

For while others have passed on from this life, their forever is just beginning.

The End


End file.
